Friday 28th January (That Friday Feeling TGIF)

Mr. Kite looked out of his bedroom window as the gloom was lifting. The sun was just below the horizon and people were striding down the road with a slight smile. It was Friday and the working week was nearly over for some. Fortunately for Mr. Kite the working week does not begin.

After a leisurely cup of warm breakfast broth Mr. Kite was cycling to meet his birding companion for a few hours idly bird watching. The sun was warm and the wind was cool as they set out. House sparrows were making the most noise as the rode towards Sharpstone Quarry. The trees were leaf less and the hedges were bare. Just a few unappetising berries remained so the birds were feeding on the ground.

Fieldfare and redwing seemed hungry as they purposefully fed on the ground presumably building up their energy for the imminent trip back to Scandanavia. In a filed near Sharpstone Quarry hundreds of lapwing fed in the field feeding on the emerging creatures stirred by the warmth of the sun. This desert of sociable short-billed black and white birds with two antennae were unmistakable against the green background. Looking closely Mr. Kite could see their metallic green upperside and black bib. At interval one would take to the air showing their broad rounded black and white wings. The wing shape gives them manoeuvrabillity and the flying 'peewits' called 'peewit' as they flew straight, banked steeply and tumbled quickly back onto the ground after a short energetic flight.

Now Mr. Kite and his birding companion visited the usual locations on their way to Venus Pool looking at the usual common species. By the time they left Venus Pool Mr. Kite was losing the birding competition guestimate. To cut a long story short he needed four more birds for the draw. Atcham produced the pheasant, grey heron and kestrel; just one more species required.

Having shortened the story so far Mr. Kite will now elaborate a paragraph. As the two old men were cycling back towards Shrewsbury along the footpath eagerly searching for a pied wagtail, wren or hawk they saw a couple walking towards them. Mr. Kite stopped and perched himself on a barrier to let them past as it was narrow. Now Mr. Kite had his hood up in the chilly North-easterly and was looking towards the river. The male walker recognised Mr. Kite as an old working colleague. After more than thirty years they had not met because today this person was back in town on their way to a wake at the Mytton and Mermaid. So Mr. Kite had a very pleasant and engaging conversation with the 'man going to the wake' who also spoke to Mr. Kite sensitively about Mr. Kite's loss. C'est a vie.

Mr. Kite felt pleased to be remembered after so long and this person knew of Mr. Kite's sadness. With these thoughts Mr. Kite and his birding companion headed for the last location of the day; a pool on a housing estate. On arrival the birding competition was a draw; a moorhen was feeding on the grass. Now being a pool on an estate the birds are familiar with people and come towards you expecting to be fed. As the ducks and geese walked towards the bird watchers Mr. Kite looked at the long yellowish legs of a coot. What he noticed was as they retracted their legs their web foot closed and then opened as it approached the ground. It was a smooth and rhythmic action.

Soon the birders parted company and Mr. Kite headed home. In the garden he watched a blackbird flicking over the dry leaves under a bush picking at morsels on the ground. The dry leaves made a familiar sound that is often heard at this time of the year near shrubbery. Shortly after another common sound was heard, The releasing of gas as Mr. Kite removed the top of his tipple of Marstons Double Drop. Cheers to the workers; TGIF (thank god its Friday).